


Buried Bruises

by RbtlSR



Series: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Self Harm, pre slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RbtlSR/pseuds/RbtlSR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan sees Reid's cuts and confronts him. Angst and hurt/comfort. Can be read as pre-slash or friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever fic, written quite a while ago and published on ffn, but I'm working on moving my fics over.  
> Please use discretion in reading, as it contains explicit references to self harm.

Everyone was exhausted as the long day came to a close. They were all packing up as fast as possible to go home. Soon JJ, Hotch, Rossi, and Emily had left, and only Morgan and Reid were behind, Reid searching frantically for his keys and Morgan helping him.

"Hey, Reid!" Morgan yelled across the room "Your keys were over here" Morgan picked up the keys and tossed them towards Reid. Without thinking, Reid reached up a hand and grabbed the keys in midair, hastily stuffing them into his pocket.

And unexplained look of worry crossed Morgan's face. "Hey, kid, what happened to your arm?"

Reid looked down at his arm, the loose sleeve covering the pale limb, before returning an inquisitive look to his coworker, panic rising. "Huh?", he asked dumbly, holding on to the hope that he was wrong.

"Dude, you have a ton of bruises! What the hell happened?"

"Oh... um, I tripped on the stairs the other day."

"It looks bad... let me see." Morgan said, taking a step to grab Reid's arm.

Almost instantly Reid took a step back. "It's nothing, forget about it" Reid muttered, grabbing his stuff and hastily walking out the door.

As he left Morgan's sight he cursed himself internally. He should have worn tighter sleeves. He shouldn't have reached his hand up into the air... and falling down the stairs? What kind of excuse was that?

As Morgan left the office he wondered what was up with Reid. Why was he so freaked out? Did he really think Morgan would buy the stair story? How did he really get those bruises that he was trying to hide?

The next morning, if you could even call it morning, Reid's phone rang. Dragged out of his sleep prematurely he fumbled for the offending device. Finally he managed to open it and mumble a greeting. JJ's voice spoke "Reid, I know we all had a really late night last night and we're exhausted, I'm so sorry to do this, but we have a case."

"Ugh, I'll be there in half an hour"

This time Reid was careful to select a tight shirt under his vest. He pulled the sleeves over his bruised arms as he walked out the door ten minutes later, coffee in hand.

As he drove to work, the morning sun rising, he replayed last night's events in his head. He hoped he was worrying too much. Still, he couldn't get Morgan's look of concerned shock out of his head.

Morgan, too, was on his way in at that very moment. He had not forgotten about the events of the previous night. In fact, he had been replaying the scene in his mind since it happened. What the hell could have caused those bruises? When he closed his eyes and tried to remember an image of them they seemed to all be different colors, in different stages of healing. If it had been anyone other than Reid he would have suspected abuse, but Reid lived alone. Should he confront Reid or let it go?

As everyone walked in Morgan looked to meet Reid's eyes, but Reid seemed to look right through him.

JJ called everyone's attention. "Thank you everyone for coming. I know none of us got nearly enough sleep, but we just got a new case. It's out in Denver. We'll brief on the plane. Go get your coffee and then we'll head out. Wheels up in 10."

It was explained to the team on the plane that there was a serial killer in Denver who was abducting little girls and dressing them up in princess costumes before murdering them. He had escalated, and was now killing one a day. A girl had gone missing an hour before they were called, and they were hoping to catch the guy before it was too late.

After the briefing they all moved to separate seats to review the case by themselves. As Reid chose his seat he looked up to see Morgan walking towards him. His heart leapt in fear.


	2. Discovered

As Derek walked over towards him Reid put in his earbuds and stared out the window. His melancholy music was playing as he gazed out at the gray sky, pretending not to notice Morgan. A minute later he felt the presence leave.

Eventually Reid looked over and saw that the seat next to him was indeed vacant. Placed on the armrest, however, was a note scrawled on a napkin. "We need to talk."

Not a question, not a request for permission, but a cold hard statement. It closed any arguments on the issue.

Slowly, apprehension once again running through him, he turned the volume up and returned his gaze back to the window.

-

"Reid! Wake up! We're here!" JJ was shaking him. He groggily opened his eyes. "Huh?" "Denver, Reid. We're in Denver. For the case?"

"Oh" he managed to reply, sleepily getting out of his seat. Together they got off the plane and met their ride.

The police department had sent them some cars to drive them back to the station where they could talk.

They got to the headquarters in less than 15 minutes and were soon fully informed on the case. It was decided, much to Reid's relief, that he and Hotch would be going to interview parents for victimology, Morgan and Prentiss were going to study the crime scenes, and the rest of the team was going to go over the suspect pool and work on a preliminary profile.

-

Eventually at 10 pm everyone decided to call it a day. They weren't yet close to a complete profile, but they were closer than they had been and they knew that they needed sleep to do their best.

They all got their own hotel rooms (an improvement over having to share, which had happened on more than one occasion), and they went on their way.

Reid was grateful to finally be by himself. He closed and locked the hotel room door, and felt calm at last. He was alone and could let his guard down.

He quickly changed into his comfortable flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweater.

Then, with building anticipation he opened his shaving kit, and unzipped a special compartment. From it, he pulled out his blades. He chose one and took it over to his bed, laying it down carefully. He got up and went back to his suitcase and pulled open his first aid kit, carefully choosing gauze, an antibiotic ointment, medical tape, and butterfly closures.

He laid them all out on his bed. He had all the time he needed to secure his release. He rolled up his sleeve. Sometimes it still shocked him how damaged his arm looked. Still, he found it beautiful in an odd, and possibly sick way. The bruises that littered his arm told of hurt, banging it over and over again in a bathroom stall when there was not enough time for clean up if he cut. Bruises from sheer frustration, when the world was too much at one moment and he used all his force to swing it against a table edge or punch his own arm (which was a rather awkward maneuver that he always felt silly for later). On top of the bruises was a beautiful maze of lines. Some were deep and some barely cut into the dermis, allowing for barely any blood. Occasionally one would only go through the epidermis if he wasn't using something sharp, but, he reminded himself, the epidermis is avascular, so those didn't bleed. Some were faded white scars, others were wide but faded pink lines, and the most recent were angry and red. Those were his favorite.

He took a few deep breaths and picked up the blade. After selecting a relatively unmarred patch of skin he slowly pressed the edge against the sensitive underside of his forearm, biting his lip, readying himself for the sweet blood and pain that would soon make him forget.

"REID! OPEN UP!" There was a loud knocking at the door.

"SHIT! Spencer thought as the blade slipped due to the surprise. Damn. It was deep. "Just a minute, Morgan!" he called back. "Shit, shit, shit, fuck!" he thought to himself. Quickly he grabbed some gauze and taped it on, hastily pulling his sleeve down. Quickly, he shoved all his supplies under the bed and got up to answer the door.

Derek Morgan was greeted by a very irate Spencer Reid. "I told you we needed to talk." was the only explanation that Morgan gave. "Go away." spat back Reid.  
"Let me in, kid. Do you really want to make a scene in the hallway? Hotch is just a door over."

Reid walked back in, not opening the door to welcome Morgan in, but conceding to Morgan.

"Look," Morgan started, as he walked in shifting awkwardly "I don't want to make your life harder, but we need to talk. Can we at least sit down?"  
"We have nothing to talk about."

"Look, kid, Spencer. You either have to talk to me or you have to talk to Hotch."

Reid was defeated. He sighed and pulled two chairs together. "Fine, we're talking. Now what do you want?" He was pretending to be in charge, in control, but he couldn't even look Morgan in the eye. He was scared.

"You know why I'm here."

Unfortunately, Reid did. Still, he decided to play dumb. Maybe it would be so uncomfortable that Morgan would just let it go. Finally he mumbled "No, I have no idea, so why don't you just tell me?"

Without skipping a beat, Morgan reached out and grabbed Reid's arm. He had no idea what to expect. The bruises hadn't looked like track marks, so he didn't think that Reid was using again. He had no idea what had caused them, only that Reid had tried to hide them, which was cause for concern.

Reid recoiled the second Morgan reached for him, but it was too late. The older agent had his arm grasped too firmly. Reid gasped in pain. Looking up he made eye contact with Morgan. "Let. Me. Go."

"No."

"Don't do this."  
"You know I have to."  
"We'll both be sorry if you do."

"I have to, Spencer. It's because I care." And with that, Morgan began to grasp the sleeve of the squirming younger agent.  
"PLEASE. Don't! Let it go! Just forget about it!"

Morgan slowly pulled the sleeve up, not sure what to expect.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. Tears of shock began to brim in his eyes as he took in what he saw. Reid's pale and thin arm was covered in marks. He couldn't tell where one bruise ended and another began. Even worse were the cuts littering his arm. Some seemed so deep that he couldn't believe it. He couldn't even begin to count the number of wounds on Spencer's arm. And then there was the gauze. Blood-soaked gauze taped haphazardly to his wrist. The blood wasn't even dry yet.

There was so much damage. So many nights of pain were written on Spencer's arm. So much hurt. Morgan didn't know how to react. He was angry at anyone who had ever hurt the kid. He was angry at himself for not noticing sooner. He was frightened for Spencer. He hurt inside for him.

He realized at that moment that Reid was staring at him, tears running down his cheeks.

"Morgan..." Spencer struggled to get his words out between the tears


	3. Heart to Heart

Morgan finally let his arm go, and Reid hastily snatched it back, rolling his sleeve down.

He had to regain his composure. Holy shit this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

He needed his brain right now.

He looked away from Morgan and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. They finally did minutes later.

"Reid... Spencer..." Morgan started hesitantly.

Mustering up as much venom and indifference as he could, Spencer finally responded.

"What? Are you happy now? I told you it was nothing. You can leave now."

Morgan was in shock. That was not at all the response that he was expecting.

"The door is over there. Lock it on your way out."  
Was Spencer Reid dismissing him? And did he honestly think that he would just go?

Reid, meanwhile, had crossed his arms across his chest and was glaring at Morgan. His attempt at being menacing would have been comical if it weren't for the current situation.

Finally, Morgan answered.

"No, Spencer. I'm not happy, it's not nothing, and I'm most certainly not leaving."

"Hmph."

"Let me see your arm again." The words were spoken in a kind fashion, as if he was speaking to an injured child.

"No."

"Let me see it"

"Why?"

"Because I need to see if you did any serious physical damage"

At this point Reid rolled his eyes very dramatically.

"I'm a fucking doctor, Derek," he used the first name in a mocking tone, "I'm not stupid enough to cut deeply enough on my wrists to do any long-term damage."

Morgan had to admit that he had a point. He still felt that he had to see them again, inspect them, understand them. He felt as if maybe if he saw them closely enough he could fix them. He had to.

At that second the profiler in his brain switched on. Reid's words were replaying in his head.

"On your wrists?"

Reid's head dropped almost unnoticeably at that statement. He fumbled to answer.

"Well, yes, because on the wrist there are very superficial veins, arteries, tendons, ligaments, and other important structures. To cut through those could potentially have long-term or permanent effects. The dense fibrous cartilage that tendons and ligaments are made of is relatively avascular, so they have a much harder time repairing themselves than, say, the dermis or..."  
"REID!" Derek cut off his rambling. "You said on your wrist. Does that mean that you have other... injuries... elsewhere?"

Reid glared at him. He fucking hated working with profilers.

"None of your business."

"Where, Reid?"

"It doesn't fucking matter, because I'm not about to show you."

"It matters."

"You can leave now."

"I could."

"Goodbye."

Morgan sighed exasperatedly, "Look, Spencer, I am going to figure out where they are and I am going to see them. There is no way around that. It would be a lot less unpleasant for both of us, however, if you at least tried to cooperate."

Reid looked away.

"I can use force or I can call Hotch, who you can be damn sure will."

Reid was defeated. That didn't mean he had to like it. "A bit on my legs. It's nothing though."  
"Bullshit. Let me see."

"It's on my thighs Morgan. I'm not about to strip and show you."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's the only reason you won't show me."

The young genius was sick of this game. Maybe if he just showed him, maybe if he just saw that they weren't so bad, maybe he'd just drop it and go away.

He pulled his pajama pants down to his knees, trying to ignore the fact that he was in his boxers in front of his best friend. Previous best friend, anyway.

It was then that he noticed that one of last night's lacerations had opened up and was bleeding again. Fuck, Morgan would see that.

Morgan had seen that. He wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the blood running down the young agent's leg, or the hundred of other cuts covering his pale thighs. Some of them were angry red and some of them were faded pink. He couldn't even begin to count them all. 100? No, more. Maybe 200 cuts. He wasn't able to count accurately, some were fading and some cuts were on top of older ones. His eyes returned to the bleeding wound. It was a deep red line on Reid's right thigh, but above it there was 5 or 10 shallower, recent, cuts that hadn't opened.

Realization struck him. It wasn't one cut at a time. It was groups of cuts. Each group of cuts, he could see them now in the spacing, they were all the same angle, a bit different than the other groups. Each group must have been a night that Reid went to bed later than them. Each group was a day that was too much for Reid. Each group was a day that Morgan hadn't asked him what was wrong. Hadn't checked up on him. Hadn't come to his apartment to figure out what was wrong.

"Uh, do you mind?" Reid stammered out, gesturing to his first aid supplies, breaking Morgan's trance. Morgan nodded.

"Um, privacy?" Reid asked, expectantly.

"I can't trust you with privacy right now, Spencer."

Reid sighed and began his work.

Morgan watched as he started to pour rubbing alcohol on a towel. "Hey, ki-...Reid. You know peroxide doesn't sting as much."

Reid rolled his eyes. That was the fucking point. "Yes, but unlike rubbing alcohol, peroxide prevents wound healing. It destroys new cell growth." Granted, it was not a lie, but it still wasn't his main reasoning.

Morgan nodded, and continued watching as Reid worked.

First, he wiped the old blood away and poured some more alcohol into the cut to disinfect it. Then Neosporin was rubbed onto the cut using a Q-tip. Then, a box marked "butterfly closures" was pulled out. Reid deftly applied one while pinching the skin together to close the wound. Finally, a layer of gauze was taped over the wound.

Morgan was amazed by Reid's skill. He did not falter, but instead treated it like a professional, taking care of it swiftly and competently. He'd done this way too many times, Morgan decided.

When Reid was done Morgan took as an opportunity to evaluate the damage.

"How long have you been doing this?", he asked, as he looked over the young man's cuts. He tried not to show his shock at how deep some of them were.

"A few years."

That was the end of their conversation as Morgan then began to inspect Reid's arm. There were the old, faded needle marks from the dilaudid. Morgan was grateful that there were no recent ones.  
The bruises that covered his arm carried shock value. They weren't clean and precise like the cuts, but instead showed anger and unbridled frustration.

The cuts on his arm didn't seem as awful when they were viewed after those on his leg. Still, Morgan knew that each and every one of them was a story of pain.

Finally, much to Reid's relief, he was done with his inspection.

"So now you can see that they are not infected, and they are not an immediate danger, or a long-term one, to my physical health. Can I be left alone now?"

Morgan looked Reid in the eyes.

"No. Obviously I wasn't here when I should have been. I'm not going to make that mistake again."


	4. Miles to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains relatively graphic descriptions of self-harm. Please read with discretion and don't read if you think it might trigger you.

"You can't be serious" Reid protested to Morgan.

"Look, Reid. Pretty Boy. I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

"What are you going to do, stay here all night?"

"No."

"Good."

"You're coming to my room."

"What?"

"Reid, you're not stupid. You're way too smart for your own good, in fact. I have no idea what you have in this hotel room, for all I know you could have already stashed blades somewhere. I know my room is clean, so that's where we're both sleeping. Come on, I'll take the couch."

"Shit", Reid thought, Morgan knew him way too well. "And if I refuse?"

"You know damn well I have Hotch on speed dial."

Reid couldn't win this one. "Fine. Give me a few minutes to gather my clothes and necessities."

Morgan watched Reid gather his things. As he started to pick up his shaving kit Morgan stepped in. "Nope. Give that to me, I'll hold on to it until morning."

By this point Reid was pissed. "It's just a fucking shaving kit Morgan" he snapped "What do you think I'm going to do, razor-burn myself to death?"

Morgan just raised an eyebrow and held out his hand until Reid handed the kit over.

Morgan unzipped the and rummaged around in it until he found a pack of razor blades. "Are these for you disposable razor?" he asked dryly.

Reid just averted his eyes.

Morgan popped the case open. Inside were a few unused blades and a folded slip of paper. With trembling hands he opened the paper.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.

"What does that mean?"

Reid looked away uncomfortably.

"Reid, what does it mean?"

"It's part of a Robert Frost poem. My mom read it to me when I was little.

"Why is it with... that stuff... though?"

"It's nothing."

"Come on Reid, explain it to me. I want to understand."

Reid didn't make eye contact. He mumbled "it's a reminder that I can't cut too deep. It's a reminder that I can't kill myself yet. It's a reminder that I have obligations and responsibilities to fulfill before I can die."

Morgan didn't know whether to be happy that Reid wasn't planning on killing himself, or heartbroken that the genius considered life a burden rather than a gift.

Reid had no idea how this happened.  
It didn't make any sense.  
In one day his life had been turned upside down. His best friend had figured out his deepest secret.  
One minute everything was normal, things were as usual. Then he fucked up and Morgan saw. Morgan saw his secret. Morgan was here, in his hotel room. Morgan cared. Why the fuck did Morgan care?  
Worst of all, he was under supervision now. It felt like he was a kid again. Morgan was going through his property, watching over his shoulder, and taking care of him.

He couldn't help but think to himself that it was kind of sweet actually, Morgan thinking he could fix him. Naïve, but sweet. It was almost too bad, Reid pondered, that he would be able to outsmart Morgan, convince him he was fine, and continue on. Too bad that he would regain control of his façade and manipulate Morgan until things went back to the way they used to be.

Reid was sitting on the bathroom floor. He was vaguely aware that he was in Morgan's hotel room, and Morgan was asleep on the couch. To be honest, he was a little more focused on the pain.

Silly Morgan, thinking that he could be stopped. Silly Reid for hoping for a split second in the back of his mind that maybe Morgan's hope wasn't in vain.

Not having sharp objects wasn't going to stop him. It never had before.

He closed his eyes and swung again, pounding his fist against his thigh. He tilted his head back as the pain coursed through, overwhelming his senses and overriding any other thoughts.

Seconds later the thoughts came back, reminding him that he was worthless, weak, unwanted. They spun around in his head and took over his mind. All he could feel was self-hatred and misery.

Again he swung.

Again he tilted his head back and succumbed to the numbing effect of physical pain, the evil thoughts of moments before dissipating.

Over and over.

The bruises were beautiful, he thought. The deep blue and purple in contrast with the pale skin. A physical manifestation of the hurt ripping through him.

Again and again he pounded. Each time the pain was so powerful at first but would quickly fade and he needed another blow as an anesthetic.

It was a controlled but mad frenzy. Steady blows, a racing mind. He was there but he wasn't. He was elsewhere in his head. Manic, but sane. Hurting, but numb. Human, but empty.

Warm and strong hands were wrapped around his thin wrists.

It took a minute to register as he attempted to continue his self-inflicted beating.

He struggled, tugged, and twisted but the hands were still there.

Finally he began sobbing. He couldn't hurt himself anymore. The pain was rushing back into his heart. The hands were stopping him. The grip on his wrists was keeping him from escaping the hurt. The large strong hands were preventing his mental and physical escape.

"Let. Me. Go."

"No, Reid. I can't do that. You know I can't do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from the poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.


	5. Sleep

Morgan had woken up to sobbing around midnight. At first his mind had been clouded by the fog of sleep and he was unsure what he was hearing, but quickly the situation came rushing back to him. He was in a hotel room, on a case. He wasn't in his own bed, he was on a couch. Why was he on a couch? Reid cut himself. There was sobbing. Someone was crying. Reid was crying.

"Fuck!"

He was up seconds after this realization, running towards the noise.  
It was coming from the bathroom. The heavy door was open a crack, and a sliver of bright light was just visible.

Without hesitation Morgan slammed the door open. A heartbreaking sight met his eyes.

Reid's pale form, clothed only in boxers, was huddled in the corner, sitting on the cold linoleum floor. Sobs wracked his thin body and he shook with their force. He appeared so weak and broken, but he had somehow found the physical strength to launch onslaught after onslaught against his himself. His fists landed time and time again upon his thighs as he pounded with all his might against the deep bruises that already mottled them.

Morgan felt a gasp catch in his throat as he ran over to his hurting friend.

He didn't know what to do so he did the only thing that he could, grabbing Reid's wrists tightly to prevent further damage.

He felt an instant change in Reid as he touched him. His body stiffened at the contact and he tried to pull away. Morgan held on tightly as Reid struggled under his grip, pulling, tugging, and twisting in an attempt to free himself.

"Let. Me. Go." Reid ordered, his attempt to free himself obviously not working.

Morgan didn't even consider it, he couldn't let Reid go back to his self destruction. "No, Reid, I can't do that. You know I can't do that."

Reid's sobs increased and his struggles began anew at these words. For minutes that felt like hours he fought against Morgan, pulling and straining in a desperate attempt to hurt himself, just one more time.

"Please, please, please, just one more"

Morgan held fast.

"I won't hit hard, please."

"No" was Morgan's only reply.

"Please, Derek let me go," and when that didn't work, "DEREK MORGAN LET ME THE FUCK GO! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Morgan still held fast.

Finally, at long last, the young genius' struggles ceased. Whether he gave up out of the realization that his struggles and protests were in vain, or out of fatigue, Morgan was unsure. Either way he was grateful.

After Spencer had not struggled or tried to free himself for several minutes Morgan lessened his grip and pulled him in to his chest, wrapping his arms around his tortured colleague. "Shhh..." he murmured to the young genius as he put a hand up to Reid's head, much as his mother had done for him in his youth. He couldn't help but wonder if Reid's mom was ever lucid enough to comfort him like this when he was young.

Eventually Reid's shaking stopped except for the occasional whimper as he gave himself in to Morgan's warm and comforting chest, allowing himself to be consoled.

Morgan's chest was so warm. Reid felt so isolated. It was soothing and comforting to allow himself to be held by Morgan, something he had never permitted before. Doubt inevitably crept into his mind, however. Morgan now knew that he was crazy. Would he be fired? Institutionalized like his mother? Would Morgan or the rest of the team ever talk to him again after this? Maybe Morgan would try to forget this ever happened and avoid him for the rest of his life.  
Why was Morgan here anyway? He wasn't a child, he didn't need a babysitter for fucks sake.

Maybe Morgan just felt sorry for him. He was a weak and pathetic mess after all, a charity case.

"Just sleep now" Morgan murmured, sensing Reid's self-doubt. He pulled Reid in closer and tried to protect him from all the evils of the world and his own mind.

And so, Reid gave in to the sweet pull of slumber, sleeping soundly and painlessly for the first time in years, curled up half-naked on a hotel bathroom floor in the warm arms of his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a second part, New Leaf, which is not yet complete, that develops into a romantic relationship and becomes "slash."


End file.
